Tales of the Implock - Chapter 048

∼ The Council ∼

‹ Artorian Lucius ›

Feeling the warmth of his own hot breath dampening his face, he tried his best not to make a sound despite the fact that his cloak shrouded not only his body but anything that might even hint at his presence.

Still, he could not shake the nervousness as sneaked around the shadows of the large white hall. As impressive as the cloak was, eluding even the most perceptive of the royal guard, it wasn't foolproof, and one misstep could shatter the magical illusion that the artifact cast. As when one already knew of the individual's presence, the cloak was little more than a black piece of cloth.

It had taken him weeks, figuring out a way into the council hall without being discovered, and now definitely wasn't the time he was going to be found out. It was finally time for him to listen in on the conversations always held outside of his ear's reach.

In the middle of the large hall of white pillars and sapphire-blue inlays of the marbled design, was a large crescent table, a dozen figures seated by its outer side. In the hollow of the crescent was a raised throne, upon sat a regal figure.

It was all made in the image of Sol and Lune.

From Val to Gideon, all the council members were present. They were some of the strongest, most influential people of all of Argon - yet they all showed nothing but pure deference to the figure atop the throne.

Artorian knew very well of this individual. The Gemstone Eye of the Argon. Widow Queen, Kaelthain Altorus Lucius. His - mother.

With sapphire eyes, so soft and deep that any could drown in their depths, Kaelthain was of skin so pale and fair that she might as well have been a porcelain doll. In a dress that hailed the colors of their kingdom, she was the picture of regality and poise, while also holding the gentleness of a motherly presence.

She looked barely older than Artorian himself, though that was simply the side effect of growing to a high enough level of power.

Besides being called the Widow Queen after having lost her love for the land she now rules, Kaelthain went by many names and titles, of which some she had obtained long before marrying his father. Light's Child. Mother of Lucia. Celestial Reborn.

Like his father, Kaelthain had done much to earn those titles. But rather than just titles, most importantly to the people of Lucia, she resembled - hope.

The hope of their kingdom's future. As she was the mother of their future, the one who would raise it. The future of Lucia - Artorian and Elloria Lucius.

However, Artorian couldn't help but feel a sour taste in his mouth as he looked at his mother. It was not that he hated her. It was that fact that he rarely ever saw her, and when he did, Kaelthain was more of a stranger than a mother. He had no memories of her before his father's death, but of those he had, she had never shown him the motherly care that he so desired.

He did not even remember ever feeling the touch of his mother, if she ever truly had.

Yet, it appeared that she cared. She was always pulling the strings from afar, making sure to have a constant eye on him, but never actually taking the step to embrace him or even talk to him.

And it was not that she was incapable of being a mother, as she cared deeply for Ellie - doted on her even. Yet... not him.

It was cold, knowing one's mother only saw a prince - not a son.

Artorian shook the melancholic thoughts from his head as he saw that they were getting started, pleasantries having been exchanged already.

A huge man was the first to make his report, muscular and wide, with the face of a man who has experienced the rugged nature of life first hand. Dorian Petridge, despite his bearish appearance, was the Master of Coffers in Lucia and one of twelve councilors. Before he was enlisted as a councilor and given his office, he was once renowned as one of the most feared merchants in all of Argon, as he was not only a saint with the coin but also with the blade.

He fought on the very front lines, alongside Artorian's father, the resources of his consortium at his back that could nearly rival that of a small country's army. It was for no meager reason that he held a place on the council.

"Although Mortius's whereabouts remain undisclosed, recent reports tell that Cassia is preparing for something big. Their resources, funds, and force are all in circulation. Estimates have yet to come in, as the Cassian market is unpredictable at best, but we have grounds for the belief that something big will happen soon. Most undoubtedly having to do with the Seat. It is now certain that the Crimson King fully intends to make a play for it."

"After his stunt with the assassins, we already know that he'll be working by any means necessary." A second counselor said, standing to reveal a lanky and decadent man by the name of Rhys, whose title of Councilor came from little more than his birthright. "I believe the shadow master has gathered some more information pertaining to who and how exactly the Crimson King managed to acquire a contract with the people that very nearly killed the crown prince."

Rising to his feet, Val bowed. "I have."

He cleared his throat. "As we already know, they were Old World assassins, and as much I loathe to admit it, it was a miracle that the prince managed to survive for our countermeasures for such exact encounters failed utterly in protecting his majesty." A tsk could be faintly heard across the table, a man in white robes glaring at Val, though the shadow master ignored him. "Most troubling, however, I have good reason to believe that those assassins were just apprentices of the trade."

Artorian's heart skipped a beat. "Apprentices?" He thought incredulously. Val was calling those skilled killers who easily surpassed any assassination group or organization of Argon; apprentices? The same people who had nearly killed him and were far, far more skilled than himself?

"Apprentices?" The man in the white magus robe who had tsk'd, scoffed audibly this time, parroting Artorian's internal musings. "They managed to break my wards, sneak past the royal guards as if they were little more than third-rate soldiers, and killed a dozen to boot without even raising any alarm. And you call them apprentices?"

The man was Siegfried Gladmire, an archmage who was in charge of most of the Crown Citadel's magical defenses. It was no wonder why he had been offended when Val threw a jab with his seemingly innocuous words, as Val so often did to irritate others.

"They were of the group called the Old Blade," Val continued, ignoring Siegfried. "one of the oldest assassination clans that somehow still remain after the Descent. Even with the resources of Cassia, it seems that he had only been able to hire them, not the true masters of that organization."

As Val could still see the disregard on the robed man's face, he added. "Need I remind you of the zeal of those who survive in the wastes of the Old World, beyond the behemoth that is the Holy Lands?"

Siegfried did not respond, he merely glared back.

Coughing awkwardly, another councilor took this moment to step in. This one a man of practiced calm. It was the royal advisor, Sylas Tarvol. "I've spoken at length with Val. But as to how the Mortius managed to come in contact with those people, still remains a mystery as they have not been seen moving since early days of the elven invasions. I truly doubt that the Crimson King had any worry of the possibility that they might've failed, the reason why he did something so brash." He finished.

Another councilor suddenly stood, this one fitted in finely-made clothes of white and golds. Councilor Ehrode, a man as decadent as he was useful for pulling the unseen strings of the kingdoms of Argon. "If we do nothing, we will not be able to compete." He argued. "The prince is far from ready. Therefore, we must utilize drastic measures for drastic situations."

As everyone was clearly invested, waiting for what he would say next, he looked around a little nervously, clearly hesitant to say his proposal in front of the council and queen. "I have it on good word that a channel to the Vermillion Sands has been opened in my contacts, one—to The Amamarian Blade."

A thrum of murmurs and whispers responded to the councilman's proposal, everyone here well aware of who the ancient group called The Amamarian Blade was and what it meant to hire their means.

For Amamarian in the ancient tongue of the sands meant; time. To which the people of the sands also recognized as; the inevitable death.

Though Artorian was left out of the know as he had never heard of the name. But apparently, that name held great sway amongst these people.

"We will not besmirch the sanctity of our virtue by hiring something as degrading as an assassin." The queen suddenly spoke, her voice soft but as unwavering as a mountain, silencing all others with merely those few words.

There was neither protest nor challenge of that one sentence, it was simply as so. Councilor Ehrode who had proposed the idea bowed deeply before seating himself again without another word.

The next to stand was a woman, dark of skin and nearly the tallest of all in the room, beating most of the men with sheer size. She wore simple white clothes in stark comparison to the other councilors, though Eric knew better than disparage her for that. For he very well knew who she was.

Marshal of the Keep, the Shield Maiden - Rafe Fordrihn. Outside her armor, she might only have her large body and a battle-worn appearance to tell of her presence, yet in her armor, she was an indomitable tower that would not waver even in the face of a god's wrath.

"Councilor Ehrode's initial words were not wrong." Rafe started, her voice deep and sonorous for a woman. "Drastic situations do require drastic measures. If we sit by and do nothing, it is without a doubt that the Seat will be lost to the hands of that man. I have a proposal, although calling it drastic would be taking it lightly. But I believe Artorian must be thrust out into the world, however, dangerous. If you would allow me, my queen, I would personally take the crown prince with me to Bastion."

She had spoken directly to the queen this time, a silence filling the room as everyone awaited a response.

"Bastion?" Artorian muttered to himself incredulously. "They're going to send me to Bastion? Do they want me dead?"

Artorian nearly stumbled back at this revelation, making his heart freeze as he made the briefest of missteps. However, no one seemed to notice, a testament to this old artifact's power. Yet just as he thought he was in the clear, Val looked directly in the direction of Artorian.

He froze, shocked that he had discovered him although none of the others had. But instead of exposing the prince, Val merely gave him a cheeky wink before going back to the discussion of the council.

The queen's words broke through Artorian's shock, only to send him reeling once again. "Very well then, I approve. Go send for the custodians and prepare him immediately, you will leave with him as soon as the celestial realm wills it. You will not dally. The future of Lucia- no," She corrected herself. "The future of Argon is at stake. "

Artorian let out a shaky breath. "O-okay... it's probably time for me to head out," He mused nervously to himself, his mind racing at a hundred miles a minute.

He was going to Bastion, arguably the safest and most dangerous place on Argon.